


close to you

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Series: SASO 2017 [21]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2017, Domestic, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 21:25:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11449350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: And of course, when Oikawa Tooru makes a souvenir of sunlight for you, there's not much you can say.





	close to you

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SASO 2017 Bonus Round 3: Fan Soundtracks | [originally posted here](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22341.html?thread=13266757#cmt13266757)
> 
> soundtrack: soft fuzzy feels edition  
> [the paper kites - bloom](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8inJtTG_DuU)  
> [p!nk - glitter in the air](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6BBksAK0f0g)  
> [sara bareilles - the light](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2mKdIhU_QQ)

_“Here. Your omiyage!”_  
  
_“…nice empty bottle. Very minimal.”_  
  
_“Oh, Mattsun, don’t be a pain! It’s Okinawa’s summer. I stole it for you, you know.”_

 

/

 

And of course, when Oikawa Tooru makes a souvenir of sunlight for you, points out, as you tilt the tiny bottle side to side, that there’s a grain of sand rattling around the glass beneath your thumb, a refraction smudged iridiscent right  _there_ —  
  
There’s not much you can say, and Matsukawa knows it.  
  
So he rests a hand on Oikawa’s head in solemn thanks, puts the bottle down next to the cactus on the windowsill, and lets Oikawa sprawl all over the couch in his most slovenly way. His jacket’s on the floor in a heap, his mismatched socks balled up by the foot of the coffee table.   
  
“You smell like the sea,” remarks Matsukawa, going to the kitchen.  
  
Oikawa wrinkles his nose. “Gross. You know what the sea  _is_?”  
  
“Fish piss?”  
  
“Yeah, more or less. Give me  _home_  any time! I’d rather smell like car exhaust in the city, and cigarette smoke, and your awful coffee.”  
  
Matsukawa raises his mug to his lips, pauses to inhale appreciatively. He still drinks it black. All the milk and sugar is Oikawa’s. It goes down his throat like a smooth murmur, like lost sleep at 6 AM when it’s too bright, too early outside, and an echo of a  _good morning_  that Oikawa mumbled into sheets.

 

/

 

Two days later, Matsukawa notices the cactus in bloom.  
  
He only thinks to take a picture of it later, in the fading light of dusk. Against the grey concrete of the building opposite, the crimson petals are a warm unfurling, quiet fireworks that blossom like the ripening sky beyond the horizon. 

 

/

 

He could hold a moment like this to himself. There might have been a time he’d have chosen that, found his own private enjoyment in the tucking it away. A pillow fort of comfortable little secrets that he kept safe.  
  
But some things are sweeter in Oikawa’s mouth; some surprises more delicate than glittery kisses, and so when Oikawa comes home, Matsukawa shows him.  
  
“Has it ever bloomed before?”  
  
Oikawa touches the curve of one petal like it might burn, like it is flame licking at his fingertip. The gesture is a curious, fearless thing, so like him. His lips part in soft wonder.  
  
“I don’t think so,” he says, looking up at Matsukawa. “Isn’t that amazing?”  
  
On the ledge, the bottle glimmers. Matsukawa could swear it’s winking at him, and him alone.  
  
“Must be Okinawa,” Oikawa adds.  
  
“Must be your light,” says Matsukawa, and maybe that’s the same thing, and maybe it isn’t.


End file.
